Cruise Control
by TheKingAndAllOfHisMen
Summary: He sat down and started to play, started to sing. The words rolling of his lips like honey, like prayers to the god he would never be able to believe in. His voice as sweet and dark as chocolate, his breath shaky due to the tears he had sworn not to cry. But he couldn't stop them from rolling down, still his lips kept forming the words. And it was okay. It was okay.
1. Intro

**Authors Note: So hell yeah i'm back. Buuut, there's always a but, this is my plan-B-laptop which means every chapter from my other stories are, well lost for now. At least until my laptop gets fixed, which will take some time. I tripped and the thing fell on the floor okay? Could happen to anyone. So my other stories are on hold. Sorry, like really sorry *god like anybody cares?* Buut until then, enjoy this pretty dark, depressive fic about Kendall. No idea where it came from, I just had this weird dream about Kendall being really down and this girl that's just as messed up as him saving him. **

**And I know, this is a veery short chapter, and that's because it's the intro and it's going to be *drum-roll* the ONLY chapter with lyrics in it (until now, maybe in the last chapter...oh fuck this whatever) So it's not going to be like "Stars & Stripes" ;) You're welcome. **

**Warning: it's..kinda dark? I guess. M-rated because of...well you'll see ;)**

_Every day is always the same. Gotta get away out of this game. _  
_I'm so sick of this same town. And this same place. And these same faces._

He was sick of it. Sick of this superficial world that didn't care about him. Sick of having another girl every night, of waking up every morning without any memories. Getting wasted every night had been fun at the beginning.  
Now it was like a routine he got stuck in. He needed it to feel. Feel something.  
Even if it was only for a couple of hours. He wasn't really able to feel anything when he was sober.

_Every day like deja vu._  
_I think a trip is overdue. _  
_I'm so done with what they say._  
_And what they do._

And Oh, he would give everything for a split-second of pure happiness. But he had lost the ability to feel, really feel, long ago  
He couldn't remember when it all had started. A while ago he guessed. He hadn't really thought about it, because, well nobody had ever asked.  
His friends had left him. Though they still worked together, they wouldn't just come over to his place like they used to. They had been able to survive and to keep their personality. They had somehow managed to stay the same. He hadn't.

_I gotta get away, and never come back._  
_I just wanna get in the car and drive away._  
_That's all I wanna do._

This city had torn him apart like a hurricane. It didn't matter any more. He was lying in his bed, the wrinkled sheets the only evidence of last night  
The girl, whatever her name was, had left. He was glad she had left before he woke up.  
No explanations, no lame excuses needed. He was staring at the ceiling. Counting his breath. His throat was sore, he had smoked too much last night.  
Whatever. He slowly stood up. He shrank back as he saw himself in the mirror. He looked horrible.  
Dark shadows underneath his green eyes, and though he had always been a skinny guy, he just looked _manorexic_.  
Well, nothing helps you losing weight like speed, cocaine and LSD. He turned around, not able to look at himself any longer.  
He was ashamed. Deeply ashamed of what he had seen.  
He was a wreck. A hollywood-wreck. He needed to get out of here. A break would do him good.

Very good.


	2. Always have, Always will

**A/N I don't know why I'm doing this to myself. I should be preparing my oral exam for tommorow. But I just had this idea and had to write it down. BTW. Carlos'sCupcake I'm sorry for using you as a character in this. But I just had to. Because of your Logan feels and stuff ^^ And everybody who doesn't know Carlos'sCupcake...SHAME ON YOU and GO READ HER STORIES THEY'RE MINDBLOWING!**

**I hope you like it. =) **

**enjoy bitchachos!**

* * *

It was hot. Insanely hot and the air was thick and humid. Smothering him, making him sweat like the filthy animal he was. His clothes were sticky and his skin wet. He rolled both the windows down and sighed. In front of him a sign said:

**San Francisco 25 miles.**

He was almost there. He should feel relieved, or even excited. But he wasn't_couldn't_ be. Instead he just felt exhausted. Tired. Sick. He shrugged. Discomfort. Anxienty. There were no words to describe the feeling in his chest.

The withdrawal symptoms were kicking in. He would do everything for a line. A little pill._ Exit please._

He turned the radio up and increased his speed. Listening to the lyrics that spilled out his heart for him.

**Nobody's fault but mine  
It's nobody's fault but mine  
Try to save my soul tonight  
Oh, it's nobody's fault but mine  
**

As he arrived he parked his car and looked in the rear-view mirror. He was disgusted by the horrible, skinny corps that was staring back at him, realizing it was only him took him a bit too long. It didn't make it any better. He lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag, slowly breathing out. It felt good, he guessed, but nothing like the stuff he was used to. Nothing would ever feel that good again. Forget sex, forget love, nothing felt more like heaven than his first line. And nothing would ever feel better. But he had always tried to regain that feeling. Taking more and more every night, beggin' his body to react the same way. Craving the feeling of ecstasy running through his veins once again. But it never happened.

He thought about the boys. Carlos. James. Logan. Carlos and James had given up on him first. They just stopped trying, it was clear to them it wasn't worth the effort. They had realized soon enough it was a worthless thing. They couldn't help him getting through this. It was too late. But Logan refused to give up his best mate. To leave the guy he had been friends with since kindergarten. He had been there for Kendall when he had completely lost it. Logan had found him, crying, bleeding from the narrow cuts on his wrist, completely pissed and high. Logan had hold him, calmed him down, whispered to him how everything would be alright in the end. But it didn't take Logan long after that to realize he couldn't help him anymore. He would only be dragged down with him. So he had left. Stopped calling. Stopped saving him. And he fell apart.

Kendall shuddered as his gaze fell on the small, white scars on his wrists. The memory of Logan was painful, painful enough to bring up the hot, burning tears he had been holding back for so long. He swallowed and tried to dry his eyes. There was no way back now

He opened the car door and stepped outside. Throwing the cigarette away. The sun was shining way too bright and stinging his eyes. Forcing him to narrow them. He locked the car and walked towards the door. It was a beautiful house, he noticed, bright walls, lots of windows and a shiny, yellow front door. Accentuated by the brash green of the grass in his front yard. He smirked. A house never shows what's going on on the inside. Maybe that was meant to be. Maybe a house is only made to be a façade, to cover up the cruelties inside. Everyone who would pass this would think maybe a happy family lived here, or a young couple. But not a broken-down, fucked up ex-rockstar.

It was cool inside, 'bit chilly even. He didn't care. He was tired. His eyes felt like they were made out of lead. He lied down on the couch and immediately fell in a woozy, dreamless sleep.

He woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. He grunted and moaned as he slowly lifted himself out of bed. He felt stiff and cold. His muscles protesting at every movement. The pain was intense. But, he guessed, the lumineers were right. It's better to feel pain, than nothing at all. He had known it would be like this, but knowing and experiencing were still two totally different things. He looked at his phone and was surprised as he saw the caller ID. Logan Henderson. He slowly picked up his celly and took the call.

''Hey bud," Logan's voice like music to his ears, ''How are you?''

''Hey Logan,'' his voice hoarse and way too soft, ''I'm...alright, I guess,,''

''No you're not, otherwise you wouldn't be there. C'mon mate, be honest. How are you feelin'?''  
''Like..total shit. Not kidding. I feel like I should just lie down until I finally die. I feel cold, hurt and vulnerable. I feel like...like...'' He couldn't find the right words, he was pretty sure there wasn't a word that could describe the way he felt. No word could describe the aching, the disgust, the hate.

''Like a total wanker?'' Logan helped him out.

Kendall smirked, ''Yeah, that pretty much describes it I guess. A total wanker, a big lunatic idiot, that has been so full of himself. Loved himself, so no one has to. And now I'm paying the price. The price of all those sleepless nights.''

He could hear Logan's voice shake, as if he was about to cry. ''Y-you know, Kendall, I love you. Always have, always will. God that sounds wrong. Fuck, I sound like a bitch from gossip girl. Pretty sure I just quoted that show... But honestly... You're my brother Kendall. My best mate.''

''You shouldn't. Love me I mean... No homo. But still.''

Logan laughed and added ''No homo! Haha, mama Knight would kick our asses, telling us how homophobic we are...'' Kendall couldn't keep himself from smiling. He was right. So he played along, trying to keep the conversation cheerful. ''No way we're homophobic. Dude MANLOVE RULES!''

He could almost hear Logan grin, but he didn't answer, so Kendall was forced to change the subject. ''How's Tiff?" he asked after a couple of seconds. Tiffany, Logan's married, older girlfriend. They had been having an affair for a while now. And though she was older. Like really older. She was beautiful, and Logan was deeply, madly in love with her. But she couldn't leave her husband. And Logan understood. The press would have the best day ever when they'd find out. So they kept it a secret. And every time the rushers would play ''**Where in the hell is Logan Philip Henderson again**'' he would actually be with her. Secretly. ''She's on vacation with her husband and kids. So..You know.''

Kendall sighed, ''Why are you doing this to yourself?''

''Kendall, you might not understand it. But what I feel for her... I love her man, I fucking love her. And I don't care if we'll never really be together. I'd rather die than give up on her.''

He felt jealous. He had never experienced a love like that. ''Is it weird when I say you're one lucky man?''

Logan laughed, ''No. Because I am. I am the luckiest man on earth, because a woman like her loves me.''

''Look, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna hang up. I really need a shower. I smell like a...well, like a...turd.''

''It's okay mate. You know. You can always call me. No matter when. I'm here for you.''

''You might regret that. You know, I might just call you in the middle of a secret date.''

''She'd understand...Bye, Kendoll. Stay strong you little bitch.''

And as Kendall hung up and lay his phone down, he realized that his best friend might just not given up on him yet.


	3. Californication

A/N

***Drum rolls* I am happy to present the LONGEST chapter I've EVER written. Damn. But I promise, from now on, I will write more often and the chapters will stay like..this size.**

**I'm sorry for the mistakes I made, as a lot of you know, English is NOT my first language and I still make a lot of mistakes, so if anyone could volunteer as a Beta I would be pleased. Very pleased**

The sound of his cell phone ringing woke him up from the woozy sleep he had fallen into only a couple of minutes ago.

"Meh," were the only words he managed to say, "Whoryou?"

"Kendall? Are you drunk?" the voice on the other end was shaking, yet Kendall would always recognise the voice of his best friend,

"Logan, no. Don't worry, I'm clean as a towel."

"A towel isn't clean, in fact, it is, besides the kitchen sponge, the dirtiest thing in the whole house. Glad to hear you're clean tho, but you might want to work on your comparisons. Not really your cup of tea."

"Shut the fuck up man, I had just fallen asleep. How late is it?"

"8 in the fucking morning. Just fallen asleep? Ahh, I see, insomnia is back."

"Yeah, insomnia, the old friend I learned to hate. God. Whatever. Why did you call in the first place?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. His muscles were stiff, his breath shaky, he was sweating too much. He wanted a cigarette. Oh so badly.

Fuck it.

He took one out of the package he had bought yesterday, lit it up and took a deep drag. This, sadly enough, did not go unnoticed by his companion on the other end of the line.

"Kendall, are you..are you smoking?"

"hmm"

"Kendall..please tell me.."  
"Only Marlboro baby, no bad stuff", he muttered. The light, warm smoke felt oh so heavy in his lungs and he could feel the nicotine kicking in, making him slightly dizzy.

"Still don't like the fact that you're smoking..."

"Logan, shut up", he interrupted, "I ain't gonna start again. Clean and sober. Only cigarettes, please, I can at least have that right?"

Logan only sighed, which meant he had resigned. Not that he had ever had a chance to get Kendall to quit smoking.

"Now, again, why were you calling me?", Kendall asked.

"Well, ehm, ya know. Just checkin' up on ya mate. Like, I..I worry about you. You think I could visit you soon?"

Kendall didn't know how to react to those words, happiness seemed inappropriate, but turning him down just as much.

"I, I don't know Logan", he hesitated, "What if I need this. Like, I just need time on my own."

Kendall could almost hear Logan nod through the phone.

"Yeah, yeah you're probably right..."

"I will call you when I can't take it anymore 'kay?"

"mkay..." Logan answered, but Kendall didn't give him the chance to say anything more, because he had already hung up.

Hearing his best friend like this was..horrible. He could hear the pain in his voice, and knowing he was the cause of it only made it worse.

He threw the phone out of the room, not bothering about whether it'd break or not.

He lifted himself up and walked to the kitchen. Logan couldn't have picked a worse moment to call him, he had just fallen asleep after being awake for almost 72 hours. He made coffee and while he was waiting on it his gaze fell onto his guitar. A wave of nostalgia crashed onto him and tears welled up in the corner of his eyes. He couldn't resist. He walked over and picked up the instrument he shared the best memories with. His hands on the cold wood felt so natural. Like breathing, like gravity, like the sun that rises and sets every day. It was only normal to hold it, his hands were right where it belonged and where they belonged. He sat down and started to play, started to sing. The words rolling of his lips like honey, like prayers to the god he would never be able to believe in.

His voice as sweet and dark as chocolate, his breath shaky due to the tears he had sworn not to cry. But he couldn't stop them from rolling down, still his lips kept forming the words. And it was okay. It was okay for him to sit there. In the morning. Crying. Singing his soul out. Because all that remained was this. This moment was all he had.

"_It's the edge of the world  
And all of western civilisation  
The sun may rise in the east  
At least it settles in a final location  
It's understood that Hollywood  
Sells Californication"_

He had to stop singing because he was sobbing. He was crying his heart out. Tears, hot and salty, streamed down, onto his lips, down his neck. He could taste them. He could taste the failure on his own damn lips. He held his guitar in his hands like a lifebuoy, like he was trying to keep himself from drowning in his own pathetic misery.

A couple of minutes later, well he actually had no idea of how long he had been sitting there crying like a 5-year-old, he dried his eyes and slowly inhaled. He felt better. Yes, incredibly enough he realised he actually felt better. He lit up another cigarette and as he looked down at his guitar again, memories started to flood his mind. Taking him back to the nights he had felt alive.

He thought about Jackie. Jackie. His ex-girlfriend. He smiled, he just had to. She had been so beautiful, and in his mind she'd always remain that way. He would always think about her when singing, remembering the way he had sung for her.

Whispers in the dark, getting high, letting go. Her skin, so soft to his touch, her pink, plump lips that he would kiss, her eyes, damn they had had the ability to light up the darkest night.

But it had ended too soon. It happened too fast, too quick. They had been madly, deeply in love. Everything had been so perfect. Too perfect. ''Too' was a word he had to use quite often when describing his relationship with Jackie. But it were the only beautiful memories he had. He didn't regret anything. And he smiled, smiled because this hadn't been his fault. She was the only thing HE didn't screw up. She might just have died too soon, but it hadn't been his fault.

He abandoned this thought as quick as possible. Out of his head. Pushed it away. He immediately felt horrible for thinking something like that. Her death may not just have been his fault, but she was still dead.

He started to think about 'his' boys again. Carlos. The idiotic, immature latino. He had (almost) always managed to make him laugh. After Amanda had broken up with him, after his guinea pig had passed away. Carlos would be there, crack a joke and he would feel better in an instant.

The memory of Carlos hurt. He needed some distraction of his own mind. The memories haunting him like a melody, pushing him back into the state of pure misery he had just escaped.

He looked around in the room, trying to focus on something else. But there was nothing to see. He had sat there a lot and had seen everything. From the ceiling to the floor, every little detail was already discovered and memorised. He needed to get out of the house, otherwise he might just turn into an INSANE ex-junkie. And honestly, he thought, it's already bad enough minus the adjective.

He stepped out of the door and inhaled sharply. He had almost forgotten what fresh air smelled, tasted and felt like. It was a day that other people might consider beautiful. But he honestly didn't give a single fuck about the weather. He got into his car and drove off.

Half an hour later he stopped at a diner. He needed another cup of coffee, otherwise he might just james dean himself into history on the way back home.

He opened the door and the smell of coffee and waffles flew towards him, tickling his nostrils.

After looking around for a couple of minutes, he walked up to the nearest table and sat down.

It was quie-  
"YOU MOTHERFUCKING COCK-MUNCHING LITTLE FUCKNUGGET. DON'T YOU HAVE EYES IN THAT FUCKING LITTLE HEAD OF YOURS. WHAT ARE YOU? BLIND?"

he turned around, impressed by the flood of cuss words that had just reached his ears and would actually, literally echo through the room.

"What the f-", he started, but he couldn't end the sentence. The girl who was standing there (another waiter on his knees in front of her, trying to clean up the mess they had just made by bumping into each other) had immediately given him this look that said "If you dare to say something imma kill you and they may just never found your body..except for the head."

Damn, was the first thing he could thing, she's..hot.

And apparently this thought was showing, because she raised an eyebrow and looked at him in an arrogant, but still sexy way only girls seemed to own. (No, he was not aware of the fact that he kinda invented this 'dirty look')

He could see she took a deep breath and his own froze as she walked up to him.

**A/N. Worst cliffhanger in the history of cliffhangers but hey, don't bite the hand that feeds ya. I know, this isn't my best. And I'm not so happy with the result, but hey, it's all you get ^**^


End file.
